Patrick Verona: An insight
by Sohara von Salienta
Summary: I've found that there aren't any complete Patrick point-of-views on here, so I'm writing mine. PG-13 for language, since the language is taken from the movie
1. It was a bratwurst

Disclaimer Number One:  I wish I owned _Ten Things I Hate About You, but that's kinda wishful thinking.  Besides, you know I don't, so what's the point of a disclaimer?_

Disclaimer Number Two:  I also wish I owned William Shakespeare's _Taming of the Shrew, because then I'd have written it, and that would make me an absolutely awesome author.  Then I'd KNOW that I could write._

Random note:  I looked up the script on the Internet and have read most of these fanfictions on here and have decided that I own a bootleg version of the movie.  Well, not own; I rented it.  Which is most probably why the versions of stuff I'll be writing won't fit in with some of the stuff on here.  For instance:  the movie I've got doesn't show a clip where Mandella's trying to slit her wrist with the wire on a journal.  It doesn't have the 'I'm driving, so I get to pick the tunes' clip; it picks up where Kat points at the radio and says 'I should do this!'.  I hope that explains a lot.   And if it's just the deleted scenes on the DVD or something that show those parts, forgive me for being stupid.  I just don't HAVE the DVD.

Patrick Verona

Jesus.  Another day at Padua High School.  You'd think they could get a name at least a LITTLE more imaginative.  And it's less bearable than ever these days, because you've got stupid 'Padua Prom' posters hanging up everywhere, clearly spelling out 'Party for all the vapid idiots at this school to get their brains blown out by the most aberrational band anyone could possibly form' in twelve-foot letters.

Pulling into parking lot and car almost dies on me.  It does this every time.  I'm almost in the parking space when it rattles like a snake that's been stepped on.  Never mind:  make that a hiss.  My car hisses at me.  Do you know how sad that is?  Not even my car likes me.

Damn.  Sophomore groupie congregation around the entrance.  Okay, so all I'd normally have to do is push past them, but Patrick Verona isn't very normal, according to his universal image.  The last ridiculous thing they say I've done is eat a live duck, everything but the beak and feet.  Jesus.  Duck doesn't taste THAT good.

"MOVE!"

A growl always gets them out of the way.  I'm assuming they're scared I'll actually TOUCH them.  Got news for ya, sweet cheeks:  I am not covered in soot and won't dirty up your picture-perfect sundress unless you've given me a good reason to, because you're a waste of my time.

"God, Bianca, he sounds like your sister!"

They're talking about me?  Fine; fuck them.  And I seriously DOUBT that anyone at this school sounds like me.  I remember someone telling me once that I lit a state trooper on fire.

"Chasity, Kat sent Bobby to the hospital, remember?"

  Kat…Kat…Bobby…Oh, right.  There was a big deal about two weeks ago in the lunchroom; some idiot was yelling bloody axe-murder and holding his balls as if they were about to fall off.  Kat someone did it, they say, but they don't say why.  That must be her sister.

Locker…damn it, where's my Lit book?!  I swear, people get dared to steal stuff from my locker and then pretend it's some great feat, like stealing the rays from the sun or something.  Not that I mind the reputation, but I DON'T WANT TO KEEP HAVING TO BUY NEW SCHOOLBOOKS, DAMN IT!

A tap on my shoulder.  What is it THIS TIME?

"Patrick, Ms. Perky wants to see you in the office."

Okay, so I'm not allowed to hit teachers, but I can certainly glare at them.

The office.  Jesus, it's like this place is a second home to me, I'm up here so often.  And mostly it's because of stupid people.  Okay, then….Perky's office…Perky's office…There.  There's a kid leaving.  Jesus, he's short.  I could step on that kid without lifting my foot two inches off the ground.  

Did I glare at him that badly?  He backed into the coatrack and preferred smiling at the pornographic author of this school instead of looking at me.  Man, kids these days…absolutely no guts whatsoever.  Sigh.

"So," Perky says in that voice of hers, the one that sounds like the squeal of a rat once it's been run over by a Mack truck, "I see we're making these visits of ours a weekly ritual?"

Well, DUH.  People seem to LIKE hauling me up here; if they DIDN'T, I wouldn't BE here in the first place!  

"Only so we can have these moments together.  Shall I hit the lights?"  Sarcasm is a beautiful tool, and one I seem to make frequent use of.

"Ooh, very clever, kangaroo-boy."  Kangaroo-boy?  Where'd she come up with that?  She's a guidance counselor AND an author, even though what she writes IS porn, so you'd think she'd be a leetle more inventive.  "It says here you exposed yourself in the cafeteria."

Oh, that.  They sent me to the office for THAT?

"I was joking around with the lunch lady.  It was a bratwurst."

If I didn't know better, I'd say she's sauntering up to me.  Fortunately, I know this lady too well, and she's only raring up for a stupid comment.

"Bratwurst?"  Okay, that voice is getting REALLY annoying.  "Aren't we the optimist."

Okay, WHAT was that?  BITCH!

"Next time, keep it in your pouch, 'kay?  Scoot!"

What a bitch!  And they wonder why I hate this school!

Okay…Lit room…Lit room…there.  No need for a funny hat; the kids in there look at me like I'm scum anyway as soon as I get in sight.  I love them, too.

"What've I missed?"

Kat Stratford answers, and decently, I'm surprised.  She's known around all of school as 'the shrew', and—wait, yeah, it _was her that mangled Bobby Ridgeway's balls.  Bianca's her sister?  Oh, that's right.  The vapid, conceited chick we all have fun making fun of because her dad's so overprotective.  You know, I'd hate to have their father.  I much prefer my mom, mostly because she can't make me do anything._

"The oppressive patriarchal values that dictate our education."  Obviously, she and Morgan and Donner, that model-pretty-boy-asshole have been having some sort of spat.  They're pretty good at pissing her off.  And I don't need to hear the continuation.

"Good!"  Walk out of door, slam door, hear with a grin Morgan saying:  "Hey!  Wait!!"  That teacher is such a moron.  Hey.  Morgan-moron.  Almost rhymes.  

Lessee, where'm I escaping to this time?  Workshop, I think.  I've got some work to do there I haven't finished yet.  Plus, it's fun working with a drill.  People stay farther away from me than ever.  But I'm starting to wonder if I'm allergic to sawdust; I cough so much more in there than anywhere else.  Not that I show I'm coughing; I sorta like the 'isn't affected by anything' stereotype they shove me into.  It basically means I'm a god.  Okay, so maybe Hades or Ares, but still, a god.  That's worth something.


	2. You're gonna pay me to take out some chi...

The paragraphs are jamming together, being stupid, and I don't know how to fix it.  I hope this one works.  If not, email me, and I'll send you the un-jammed version.

Patrick Verona:  An insight

I think it's Thursday.  That works.  Tomorrow's Friday, which means weekend in sight over the horizon and quickly zooming nearer.

You know, Biology would actually be fun if they'd let us do stuff other than dissect frogs, which I've done God knows how many times.  Where'd I put that switchblade—there!  Die, mangled frog-intestines!  Damn you to Hades- or Ares-hell, where I can do as I like with you!  HA!!

I wonder if that frog heard me.  

Hey!  Matches!  Some idiot left a box of matches lying around!  And I'm sitting next to a lab table!  Gas vents!!  It only takes touching the match to the gas once for it to ignite.  Wonder if I could light a cigarette in that flame without singeing my hair.  Should be worth a try, right?

Bratt, hand me that!  Bastard!  He's got no right stealing cigarettes outta my mouth and STUBBING THEM OUT IN DEAD FROG JUICE!  So he's got a point (we're not allowed to smoke on campus, technically); what's YOUR point telling me that?

That kid from a few days ago's staring at me.  What's his problem; he tired of living, too?  I can fix that.  I wonder if he's ever played with fire before.  Trying to grab the gas flame with one hand might work…ooh, yeah!  He turned away!  Ha!  Wimp.  Is there NO ONE in this school besides the people I hang out with that actually have guts?

Besides the shrew.  Not even I intend to bother her.  I KNOW the Bobby Ridgeway story isn't just rumor, seeing that he hasn't been in school for the two weeks since I heard about the lunchroom mess and that I saw him collapse.

Good.  Workshop.  I need to finish that one project due tomorrow—and, hey!  I get to work with a drill!

"Hey."

Huh?  Looking up.  It's the Perky kid, the Bio idiot. 

"How ya doing?"

That's it.  I don't need this right now.  I've got a project due and I don't need some stupid eighth-grader trying to complete a dare coming up to me.

I hardly have to think to get rid of this kid.  I shove the drill into that French book he's holding in front of his crotch.  That was a good idea of his, by the way; if he hadn't done that, God knows what I might have attacked.

"Oh.  Okay.  Later, then!"

Imbecile.

Lunch.  Just what I need after one of those frog-disembowlment rituals.  I honestly think that we got a shoe-store worker for our Biology teacher, and that all she knows about biology is that it involves the ever-famous ritual of hacking apart toads.  By this time, I believe I could clone one.

You know, I've unfortunately put myself in the position where I can't look up and not see Donnor.  You know Donnor, right?  That asshole of a model that thinks he's hot snot on a silver platter, but when it all boils down, all he is is cold buggers on a paper plate.  And he's drawing breasts on lunchroom trays.  Jesus.  Can you GET any more puerile?

Who's that with him?  Oh, that Eckmadd kid.  Not interesting, though it would fascinate me to know why on earth Donnor's allowing him to sit at the ever-sacred table of the immortal Gods of the Assholes.

I'm kidding!  Jesus, you should know I don't give a rat's ass about Donnor or who he socializes with.

Oh, that's funny!  The Eckmap kid's leaving the Donnor table, and he's got a dick drawn on his cheek.  Typical Donnor humor!

Isn't this a combination.  Gym class right after lunch, which is coincidentally right after Bio.  These schedule people want to make us puke on campus, don't they?

Not that I ever do anything in gym.  We're out on the field today, and the coach kinda gave up on trying to make me quit smoking.  Hey, what can I say?  I'm an addict; go figure.  Besides, they smell good.

"Hey.  How ya doing?"

That seems to be the phrase of the day.  Except this time it's not the Perky kid.

"I ate some great duck last night."

Jesus; it's Donnor.  Cigarette out of mouth.

"Do I know you?"  God, I hope not!

The model loses the grin.  Thank you, Deities!  Instead, he's pointing over to the girl's soccer team.

"See that girl?"

I'm not deigning to honor him with a yes.  But yeah, I see her.  Kat Stratford.  The shrew.  Just about the only chick at this school that doesn't think that having long blond hair makes her irresistible.

"That's Kat Stratford.  I want you to go out with her."

That almost made me snort out spit through my nose.  "What're you smoking?"

His suntan is so…so blindingly annoying it's making me want to decorate it with several bruises.  Why IS he here?

"Look.  I can't take out her sister till Kat starts dating.  See, their dad's whacked; he's got this rule—"

I've had enough.

"That's a touching story.  It really is.  But not my problem!"

I'm turning to Bratt, hoping that's made the point that I want to end this pointless shit right now.  If he's even half as smart as I give him credit for, he'll shut up.  Obviously, he isn't.

"Would you be willing to make it your problem if I provide generous compensation?"

Wow!  The Donnor kid actually knows words that are longer than two syllables long!  I'm not admitting it, but I'm impressed.

"You're gonna pay me to take out some chick?"  He's joking, and I'm getting tired of it.  I'm also getting sick of the asinine grin on his face.

"Mm-hm!"

I might have to think about this.  Donnor, though he's a fucking model, has money, and I might just like to take advantage of it. 

"Heh.  How much?"

"Twenty bucks."

Twenty?  That's kinda shabby.  Plus, it's the bare minimum.  Wonder if she's worth that.

Oh, that's priceless!  And good for me, too.  She's just smashed another girl into the grass so she can get at the soccer ball.  Donnor's gonna hafta do better than twenty—and the good thing is, he knows it!

"Fine.  Thirty."

I'm getting more outta this than thirty, asshole.  "Okay.  Say we go to the movies.  That's…fifteen bucks, right?"  Circling people usually makes them nervous, so guess what I'm doing?  "We get popcorn…that's fifty-three."  Expensive popcorn, but he wouldn't settle for anything less, since it's his celestial money I'd be taking her to the movies with.  "And—she'll want Raisinets, right?  So…we're talking...seventy-five bucks."  Take that, Mr. I'm Made Of Money And Will Shove It In Your Face At Every Possible Opportunity.

"This isn't a negotiation, trailer-park.  Take it or leave it."

Trailer-park?  "Fifty bucks and we got a deal, Fabio."

Oh, I LOVE that look.  Glare, actually, but who cares?  He's just handed me fifty for taking out Stratford.

YEESH!!  I hate those whistles the coaches always care.

"Great practice, everyone!  Good hustle, Stratford."

Stratford; that's right.  Might as well start now.  There she is…chugging down water as if she's got a bladder the size of the Pacific.

"Hey there, girlie!"

She looked up, swallowing.

"How ya doing?"  Geez; I'm picking up on the phrase of the day.

"Sweating like a pig, actually.  And yourself?"

She really is, but I'll let that go.  At least it's an original response.

"Now there's a way to grab a guy's attention."

"My mission in life."  You know, I think she might come close to beating me in a sarcasm contest.  "But, obviously, I struck your fancy, so you see it worked!  The world makes sense again…"

She didn't actually roll her eyes, but I got the impression that she would have if she thought I was worth it.  Doesn't seem to like me much.  Typical.  Except this time I'm supposed to care, right?  Follow her!  You want more cash than just fifty, don't you?

"Pick you up on Friday, then?"

"Oh, sure.  Friday.  Uh-huh!"

This'll be tougher than I thought.

"Well…I'm sure I can take you places you've never been before."  What kind of response was that?  Good thing I'm not in this for me, otherwise I'd be screwed.

"Like where?  The 7-11 on Broadway?  Do you even know my name, screwboy?"

She can walk faster than I can, and I hate having to jog.  "I know a lot more than you think."

I swear, that was a snort from her just then.  "Doubtful.  Very doubtful."

Okay, so she's got a point, but that's beside MY point.  I've gotta take her somewhere, preferably soon, and I'm short on cash.  Which means Donnor's gonna be an extremely helpful source of income.


	3. Watching that bitch violate my car doesn...

Okay.  I'm sure that Patrick's friend has a name in the regular version of the movie which crops up all over the scripts and fanfictions on here, but the tape I have is stupid.  I haven't been able to figure out what the sidekick's name is—it's the guy with a Mohawk who's sitting next to Patrick in the frog-dissection class and when Patrick accepts the fifty from Donnor on the field.  So I have named him 'Bratt'.  Don't ask where it came from.  I couldn't very well take a name like 'Kyle' or 'Graham', since that's not exactly his type of name, so if anyone can tell me what the guy's called, email me or review, and I'll change the 'Bratt' part.  Right now, if it doesn't bother anyone, it's staying in.

Disclaimer:  See first chapter.  No need to repeat it over and over, n'est ce pas?

Mom sent me to the laundromat today with two bags full of her stuff.  She's doing her spring-house-cleaning, so for once I don't mind.  You stay in that house when she's armed with her Clorox and bleach, you'll smell like you stepped out of a toilet-cleaner factory.

Hey.  That's Stratford's car across the street, right?  Guess so; no one else would let themselves be seen in such a wreck.  Well, maybe me.

I've only been leaning against the car for a few minutes, when outta the record shop she comes, rooting through a bag with CDs in it.

"Nice ride.  Vintage fenders."  Thumbs-up sign.

"Are you following me?"

Okay, so she's pretty perceptive, but just this once, it was a coincidence.  Probably won't be in the near future, though, if she keeps being so difficult.

"I was in the Laundromat—saw your car, came over to say hi."

"Hi," she snapped, moving for the driver's seat.  But I'm not letting her get away so easily.  That's another thing an ass is good for:  it blockades car doors.

"Not a big talker, huh?"

"Depends on the topic.  My fenders don't exactly whip me into a verbal frenzy."

So I suck at topics.  Shut up.

"You're not afraid of me, are you?"

"Afraid of me?"  She looks honestly surprised.  "Why would I be afraid of you?"

"Well, most people are," I explain, even though this IS common knowledge.

"Well, I'm not."

You know, if she didn't have a tendency to knee people in the balls, I might actually like her. 

"Well, you might not be afraid of me, but I'll bet you've thought about me naked, huh?"

Don't ask where THAT one came from.  I'm a teenage guy!

"Am I that transparent?"  The Sarcasm Queen Strikes Back.  "I want you.  I _need_ you.  Oh, baby, oh, baby."  She pushed me out of her way, and I'm letting her.  Hey; if I antagonize her too much, she'll completely hate me instead of just dislike me.  And then where would I be?  Don't forget, money's a good thing to have.

Speaking of which, guess who comes rolling up in that exit-sign red convertible.  I can't stand Donnor OR the music he plays.

I think he's suicidal.  He's managed to park his car just behind Stratford's, meaning she can't get out of the parking space.

"What is it, asshole day?" I heard her mumble, and then to Donnor:  "DO YOU MIND?"

"Not at all."  And he keeps on walking.  I don't think that look in her eyes is a good sign, not for Donnor, at any rate.

I KNEW it!  That's my girl!  HA!  She's completely maimed his car!  Backed right into it.  Not as if her car would notice, which I'm sure is a plus, but there's a _tear in the metal about two feet wide.  __Jesus!  I've gotta remember not to piss her off!_

And Donnor comes running back.  Oh, his poor baby!

"YOU BITCH!"

I can't help laughing.  He deserved that one!

Kat wants to laugh, I can tell, but all she says is "Whoops!"

It might not be so bad, going out with her.  At least I know there's a person in the world she hates less than me.

I called her 'Kat'?  What happened there?  It used to be 'Stratford'.  Eh, well.  I'm guessing it's just euphoria over Donnor's jammed hunk of metal.  And, judging from the look on Donnor's face, I'd better leave.

I was talking to Bratt tonight; he was asking how the 'Mission Stratford's going.  I didn't bother to tell him what she said to me, but I did mention Donnor's explosion.

Okay, so Bratt wasn't fooled.

"She hates you, doesn't she?"

"I am gonna fix that!"

"Fifty bucks mean that much to ya?"

What's he trying to say?  "It's not just this fifty; I intend on getting several more.  It'll be easy, once she goes out with me once."

"Make sure she's not too pissed at you after you dump her—you told me about what she did to the asshole."

"My car's not good enough to damage.  I'd actually be grateful if she wrecked it."

"It hisses at you, you said."

"It's preparing for its role as a rattlesnake in this new movie, let's say."  I do NOT like that car.

"Uh-huh.  You need a new car."

Okay, he's pissing me off.  He's one of my good friends, but good friends piss you off sometimes.  "Listen, I'll have to let you go.  Parental unit says I'm tying up the phone line."

"Sure.  Listen, you owe me five smokes—"

Click.  I don't want to hear about those five I borrowed from him when I was broke way back when we were six or something.  Okay, so maybe it was last year.  I didn't start smoking till I was fourteen.  

I wonder if Kat ever smoked.

DAMN IT, STRATFORD, GET OUTTA MY HEAD!!

There, that's better.

Scene:  locker.  Me:  rummaging for a math book.  My third.  The Literature book's more popular with little dorky freshman on dares.

Ha!  There.  It's about time I found it…you know, come to that, I should clean out my locker once in a while…

Nah.

Oh, great, there's Donnor.  Glaring, pretending it's his own patented glare, when I can tell for a fact it's ripped off either mine or Stratford's.

Hmm.  I'm back to calling her 'Stratford'.  I think it's just when she's done something perfectly awful to Donnor that I'm capable of calling her by her first name.  Wonder how often she'll do that.

"When I shell out fifty, I expect results," Donnor snapped. 

"Yeah, I'm on it."

"Watching that bitch violate my car doesn't count as a date."

He's right, even though I don't like to admit that.

"If you don't get any, I don't get any.  So get some."

If THAT made sense, call me a hedgehog.  And he's not walking away just like that.  I don't have the reputation of being a bastard for nothing.

"I just upped my price," I called after him.  Oh, I love that look on his face…

"What?"

"Hundred bucks a date."  God, I hate not being able to smoke on campus; it means I've got to chew on toothpicks instead.  "In advance."

"Forget it," super-model-shithead-boy said, pretending to be cool.

"Well, forget her sister, then."  I KNOW I've won this one.

I love the sight of money.  Besides, I could swear he's got about six hundred dollars in that overstuffed wallet of his.  And he shells out another fifty.

"You better hope you're as smooth as you think you are, Verona."

Oh, don't worry.  I definitely am.


	4. We know what you're trying to do with Ka...

This is fun.  I like Patrick.  I like him lots.  I wonder what Kat's point of view would be like.  Anyway.  ROCK ON, JULIA STILES!!!!

Workshop again.  This seems to be my favorite place to think.  And, as usual in the past few days, it's about Kat.  Or Stratford, whichever.  Still the same person.  I haven't tried talking to her yet since the Donnor-trashed-car episode; figure I might root around a little, see what she likes, stuff like that.

There's some whispering going on to my right—oh, Lord, it's the Eckpad and Perky group.  All I can catch is "I'm not a fool!", but I could have a lot to say about that.

Perky kid's obviously decided to take his chances.  He doesn't seem to care that I'm heating a piece of metal and that he's standing within hitting range.

"We know what you're trying to do…"

Yeah.  I'm finishing up a project, dickhead.

"…with Kat Stratford."

Oh, that.  "Is that right?"  So what, jerk?  "What are you planning to do about it?"

"H-help you out."

Okay, so this might be beneficial, but—

"Why is that?"

Eckdork kid pads in.  "You see, the situation is this…my man Cameron here has a major jones for Bianca Stratford."

Jesus.  Turning off flame; have decided not to hit the babies.  "What is it with this chick; she have pear-flavored nipples?"

"Hey!"  Ooh; I pissed off the Perky kid.  Cameron, I'm guessing.

"Ah—" Eckfield cuts in—"I think I speak correctly when I say Cameron's love is pure."  Love?  Jesus.  Sounds just like a sixth-grader, tripping over his own toes to fall in love.  There is 'dating' and there is 'sex'.  There is no 'love'.  "Purer than, say, Joey Donnor's?"

Oh, that.  "Look, Donnor can plow wherever he likes.  I'm just in it for the cash."  And the challenge, but they don't need to know that.  Kat certainly is a challenge.

"Hey!—there will BE no PLOWING!"  Pissed off Cameron again!—that kid needs to take some sort of relaxation pills, or else he'll explode…

I'd better put the drill away; the saw's shoved somewhere under the desk, and I really should try to retrieve it.  And damn it if that Manneck kid isn't following me.

"Ah…Patrick…Pat…lemme explain something to ya here.  _We_ set this whole thing up so _Cameron _can get the girl.  Cameron!  Joey's just…a pawn."

A pawn?  Donnor?  It's about time someone saw him as more than a pretty boy…flaming imbecile is my point of view, but I don't want to bother thinking about him.  But what this means is—

"So you two're going to help me tame the wild beast?"  That could work.

"Absolutely.  We'll do some research; we'll find out what she likes.  We're your guys!"

That speech wasn't too bad, besides that he draped his arm around Cameron's shoulder at the end of it.  Who, I think, has caught onto the raised eyebrow I gave them.

"A-and he means that in a strictly _non_-prison movie type of way."

Eckdick kid finally got the message; he dropped his arm and pulled this bright yellow sheet of paper out of his pocket.  

"Ah—hm—let's start here.  Now.  Friday night…Bogey Lowenstein is having a party.  It's the perfect opportunity!"

To go boil your balls?  "For what?"

"For you to take out Kat," he says as if it should be obvious.  Well, it should be.  Shut up.

"I'll think about it."

So it's a good suggestion.  So what?  Doesn't mean I'll use it.  Well, unfortunately, I will.  Those two aren't that bad, and they'll probably help me without my having to pay them.  But honestly, what is it WITH all these idiots going after Bianca?  She's an insipid, tasteless, boring, shallow little witch who…who's got an extremely untameable sister.  Attempt the unattainable, Patrick!

Shit.  Mum's sick again.  What _is_ it with her and migraines?  I'm guessing it was the Clorox fumes.  Either way, there's no dinner unless I care to make it, which I don't, because I'm lazy, and she's curled up in bed watching an old Humphrey Bogart movie.  My mom's got strange tastes.  I had to leave for the bar downtown to get anything decent, because if Mum's playing _Casablanca, I'm gonna have the _Marseilleise_ stuck in my head for the next few weeks.  And I don't like singing the French national anthem over and over again—did you know that's one of the bloodiest anthems there is?  I mean, heck, the last line talks about soaking fields with the blood of the enemies…_

Actually, the Mum being sick is an excuse to be here, even though she is.  I told Cameron and Martin I'd be here—Cameron said he'd sound out Bianca on Kat.  So I get to wait around for them.  At least the beer's decent.

There they are; and it's about time.  Mumbling something about hepatitis, but who am I to care.  What do you wanna bet they've never been in a bar before?

"So, what've you got for me?" I ask as soon as they get over to my pool table.

"A little insight to a veeeery complicated girl," Cameron says.  And then Marty interrupts, just as I'm trying to take a drink.

"Excuse me—ah—just one question, before we start…Should you be drinking alcohol when you don't have a liver?"

What the _fuck?  "__What?"_

"Nothin."  Good thing he said that, too—is that another one of those stupid rumors?  What'd I do this time, sell it to get a concubine or something?

"Arright."  Cameron glared at him, along with me, and I think I did a better job.  "First thing.  Kat hates…smokers."  He pointed to my cigarette.

Not just pointed.  Took it out of my hand, dropped it, and stomped on it.  I think I'm losing my touch.  He's not scared.  But I'm a bit pissed.  Why can't that girl accept people as they are, for Christ's sake?

"So you're telling me I'm a…non…smoker?"  What else will I have to go through—will I have to start looking like Donnor and join the soccer team?  If that's the case, good-bye to that source of revenue.

"Y-yes.  Just for now," they say, trying to make amends.

Cameron looks a bit troubled, and now he comes out with it.  "And here's another problem.  Bianca says Kat likes…pretty guys."

Excuse me?  What're they trying to say here?

"You're telling me I'm not a pretty guy?"

Oh, this is _hilarious.  I seriously doubt either of them are gay, but they're simply falling over themselves trying to reassure me that I am, indeed, a pretty guy.  But Matt's going overboard, and he's pissing me off doing so, with the winking thing._

"Er…okay."  Cameron pulled out a sheet of paper.  "Likes:  Thai food, feminist books, and—" this sounds like a bad quote—" 'angry girl music of the indie-rock persuasion'.  Here's a list of CD's she's got."

_Letters to Cleo is the first band mentioned.  Oh, hell no!_

"So I'm supposed to by her some noodles and a book, and sit around listening to chicks who can't play their instruments?"

They don't really answer, so I'm taking that as a yes.  Why can't that girl have more compatible tastes?

"Have you ever heard of Club Skunk?" Marlow asks.  Huh?

"Her favorite band's playing there tomorrow night," Cameron explains.  

Oh, no.  Oh, _no.  _Oh, NO!

"I can't be seen at Club Skunk!"

"But _she'll be there.  She's got tickets."_

Shit.

"Listen.  Assail your ears for one night!"

No!  I swear, anywhere but Club Skunk.  I'll be drowned in heaves of snotty, sweaty chicks and waves of terrible music.  Jesus, what a waste of an evening!

Well…if Kat's there, maybe.  I guess I might have to.

"She has a pair of black underwear, if that helps."

Okay, I don't want to know HOW Cameron found that out, and I don't intend to ask.

"Couldn't hurt, right?"

If that Eckpad kid hits me on the shoulder one more time, I'm really gonna punch him.  (He's not providing the information; Cameron is.)


	5. Your eyes have a little green in them

I got a look inside that mansion of theirs and saw something priceless:  Bianca Stratford, wearing something looking like a cross between a life jacket, a sail, and a pregnant woman.  The girl looks as if she's nine months into pregnancy.

"Who knocked up your sister?"

Kat didn't talk to me much in the car, and I didn't push it.  Well, okay, I pushed it.

"You didn't really plan on coming tonight, did you?"

"Perceptive.  How'd you figure that out?"

"You look really pissed."

She shrugged.  "Bianca talked me into it."

Oh.  That explains it, I guess.  Hey, this proves she's more human than I used to think.  She's capable of letting that vapid idiot of a sister persuade her into going to a social event involving all the people she hates.  I'm getting somewhere, right?

We get there and the streets are swamped with cars for about three blocks.  Since when can Bogey Lowenstein conjure up such an orgy?  It's easy to tell which one's the house; music's blaring madly and there're kids everywhere.

We managed to get in without much mishap and are now heading up the stairs—why, I don't know, but I'm following Kat.

Oh, Jesus.  How does a chick get this drunk in the first half hour of a party?  Some girl just threw herself onto me, practically yelling "Kiss me!"

Aah, hell, no!  There's a convenient guy over there, and I push her over into his arms.  "Kiss him!"

I think he yelled a "Thanks, man!" after me, but I've lost Kat, so I'm not really listening to him.  Damn.  If I were Kat, where would I be…

There she is; just tried to talk to Bianca, but selfsame idiot just ran off with Donner.  You know, this is when I half-regret that deal.  No one deserves to get laid by Donner, even if it's Bianca Stratford.

"Want one?" a kid with a tray full of glasses filled with God-knows-what asks of Kat, and she doesn't hesitate.  Chugs it down in two seconds.

"Right on, sista!" the guy yelled, running off to find someone else, and finally I get to talk to her.

"I've been looking all over the place for you!"

"I'm getting trashed, man!" she snapped.  "Isn't that what you're supposed to do at a party?"

"I dunno," I say, being honest.  "I say, do what you want to do."

"Funny.  You're the only one!"  (She's right, as a matter of fact)  "Later."

And she heads up the stairs again, grabbing another one of those…those…well, whatever they are, they _look like cyanide._

Half-hour later:  Looking for Kat again and find myself stopped by the kid I pushed that kiss-crazy chick off on.

"Really, really, thank you!"

He gets a clap on the back; I'm not feeling particularly vicious—eigh.  There's Kat, drinking what looks like her forty-second.  

"Hey!  Hey, Kat, why don't you let me have this one?"

Yeah; she's drunk.  "No!  This one's mine!"  And she's off again.  Why does she like losing me so much?

"My man!"  Sounds like Donner, damn him.  "_How did you get her to do it?"_

"Do what?"

"Act like a human!"

I was about to yell at him that she already _is,_ but then Donner yells "YEAH!" and runs off to join a congregation around someone dancing on the pool table.

Oh, shit.  The someone's Kat.  Seems like she's not just a little drunk.

All right.  I might as well watch her while I'm at it…

Shouldn't have said that.  That girl knows how to dance, and it's a bit hard to stop watching her—until of course she cracks her head on a chandelier.

Kat managed to fall directly into my arms, and she looks like she's dead, till she opens her eyes.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine." Peevish.  I propped her up—and she immediately falls back down.  Not a good sign.

"You're not fine.  Come on!"

"I—I just need to lie down somewhere…"

"Uh-huh.  You lie down, you'll go to sleep."

"Sleep is good!" she grinned.

"No, not if you have a concussion.  Come on."  We're outside by now.  "Here.  Sit down."

"Hey—hey—we need to talk."

Shit.  Cameron, just leave!

"Cameron, I'm a little busy right now."

"Well, can you give me a second?"

Okay, okay.  Few steps away from Kat would be wise, as I'm guessing this has to do with the Donner-Bianca deal.

"What?"

"It's off.  The whole thing's off."

Huh?  "What're you talking about?"

He sighed.  "She never wanted me; she wanted Joey the whole time."

Oh, God.  Poor kid.  "Cameron, do you like the girl?"

"Well, yeah…"

"Yeah, and is she worth all this trouble?"

"Well, I thought she was, but…"

"No."  He's not pulling this.  "Either she is or she isn't.  First of all, Joey is not half the man you are."   Joey isn't half the man of anyone, actually.  "Secondly, don't let anyone, ever, make you feel like you don't deserve what you want."  Clap on the shoulders—and I think I'm sounding like a father.  "Go for it!"

Kat—no!  She tipped to the side, and she'd have fallen if I hadn't caught her…obviously, she can't stay here.  

I sorta propped her up, arm around my neck, walking away from the horde.  "Come on!"

I saw some swings when we drove down, and that's where I'm headed; they're empty, as far as I can tell.  Although Kat isn't too pleased about the fact that I have to prop her up.

"This is so patronizing!"

"Leave it to you to use big words when you're smashed."  

She tried to take her arm away again.  "I don't think so!"

Okay, fine, then I'll have to hold her up by the waist.  "'Kay."

She snorted.  "Why're you doing this?"

Good question…although, truly, I'm not giving her a truthful answer.

"I told you.  You may have a concussion."

"You don't care if I never wake up."

"Sure I do," I grin.  And I do.  Hey!  I am not saying in any way past the money, so get that grin off your face!

"Why?"

I laughed.  "Well, because they I'd have to start taking out girls who actually like me."

"Like you could find one."

"Ooh!  See?  That, there!  Who needs affection when I have blind hatred?"  I prefer this to what that kissing guy had inside, actually, after I threw that chick onto him.

"I just—lemme sit down for a while."

That's what swings are there for—though I do wish they had backs.  She almost fell off.

Actually, I'd like to ask her something that's been bothering me—and she's smashed; it's a good time to.

"So why'd you let him get to you?"

"Who?"

"Joey."

She shook her head.  "I hate him."  That makes two of us.

"Well, you've chosen the perfect revenge!  Mainlining tequila."

Laughing.  All right; I can make her laugh.  "Well, you know what they say!"

"Nope.  What do they say?"

Oh, no.  She went limp.  "No—nononono!  Kat!  Listen to me, Kat!  Kat!  Open your eyes!"

Phew...thank God.  I got scared for a second.

"Hey," she said, smiling a bit.  "Your eyes have a little green in them."

What?  D-did she just—

Her eyes are pretty, too, as a matter of fact.  I can't tell exactly what they are, but they're gorgeous…

And she pukes all over my shoes.

Well.  That snapped me out of _that mood._


	6. with the fire of a thousand suns'

I'm the one driving her home, naturally.  I wouldn't let her drive if Donner offered me the rest of the money from his (probably short-lived) career.  I happen to _like living, thank you._

"I should do this!" Kat said, out of nowhere, pointing to the radio.

"Do what?"  She's a girl, I'm a guy:  we can't read each other's minds.

"THIS!"

Oh.  "What, start a band?"

"No, install car stereo.  Yeah, start a band!"

This isn't so bad…besides the fact that I'm being paid to do it.  She actually looks kinda…

WHOA.  PATRICK, SHUT UP.

"My father would loooove that," she sighed.  We pulled up in front of her house.

"You know, you don't strike me as the type that would ask your father for permission."

Miss Snappish comes into being again.  "Oh, so now you think you know me?"

"I'm getting there."  Not saying I don't want to, either.  She's…interesting.  Yes.  That's absolutely it.  An interesting person.  Not attractive in any other way whatsoever.  Just…interesting.

Patrick, you're a damn liar.

I am not.  Are you sure you didn't have a drink?

Kat laughed a bit.  "The only thing people know about me is that I'm 'scary'."

She doesn't look in the least scary; she actually looks kinda pretty.

Hey, I can admit a girl's pretty without liking her in THAT way, can't I?  I think Buffy's hot, and I don't intend on marrying her, okay?

"Yeah, well, I'm no picnic myself."  State trooper, the duck, that thing Cameron's friend mentioned with my not having liver, my tendencies to hack open frogs with more than a little bit of violence…

She's looking at me…and not with eyes narrowed in that evil glare she likes to give.  Just…looking.  It's scaring me.

"Ah…so…what's up with your dad—he a pain in the ass?"

"No."  She withdrew.  "He just wants me to be someone I'm not."  And, in this extremely cheer-leadery, fake, ditzy voice:  "Bianca!"

"Ah, Bianca…"  Thank God she isn't.  "No offense…I mean, I know everyone 'digs' your sister…but, um…she's…without."

I think she honestly appreciated that:  she smiled, honestly smiled, not some sarcastic grin.  Seems like she's more real when she's smashed.

"You know…you're not as vile as I thought you were."

Leave it to her to sneak a small form of abuse into an admission.  I laugh…and she leans towards me…eyes closed, everything.  She genuinely wants me to kiss her.  And, dear Jesus, the only thing I can feel is relief.

Okay, shut up, subconscious.  Move.  Preferably to Japan.  I don't care if she's smashed; I want to kiss her.

Ohhhh, wait.  She _is_ smashed.  Not good timing.  Not when she's drunk like this.  No.  I'm halfway decent, in spite of what I want you to think, and I don't want her doing anything she wouldn't when she'd be sober.

I never figured it would take an effort to pull away from Katarina Stratford, but it does.  Damn.

"Maybe we should do this another time."

Oh, how I wish I didn't have to say that.  And how I wish I'd said something else, at the sight of that glare.  I don't know how I offended her, but I guess I must have—she got out, slammed the door, and headed for the house.  Shit.

I hate this, I think as I change cars, leaving her keys on the seat—no one's gonna steal that trash heap.  I'm starting to actually like the girl, and fate chooses that moment to make my big mouth and her temperament clash.  Damn.  I want to get flaming drunk.

Only thing I could think of:  I cornered Mickey early Monday morning.

"Look, Kat's pissed at me."

"Wha—But she was doing fine at the party!"

"Yeah, I know."  Jesus, I blew it, didn't I?  "I just…look, talk to her friend about me, see if she's as pissed as I think she is."

He let out a deep breath.  "The one who's obsessed with Shakespeare?"

"The very one."

"Does this library carry any books on him?"

I handed him my Lit book.  "Here.  Find a good quote."  And walked away.  I'm not going to Lit class today—first, it means I'd see Kat, and I don't want to see her when I don't know what she thinks about me—isn't that pathetic?—and secondly, I've got a meeting with Perky.  That counselor is whacked-out.  But she's a good excuse.

I got to talk to Cameron during gym class, and he's not exactly happy about the situation, though I wonder why—just Friday, he was terribly depressed about Bianca.

"What did you do to her?"

"I didn't do anything; she would've been too drunk to remember it."  At least that's what I thought.  She definitely remembered that I didn't kiss her…and I hate to admit this, but I wish I had.  Then she'd possibly remember me in a good way…

"But the plan was working!" he insisted.

"What do you care?  I thought you wanted out!"

And instead of looking…well, anything but self-satisfied, he looks self-satisfied.  "Yeah—well, I did, but that was till she kissed me."

I can't help but grin.  Go, Cameron!  It's about time someone ditched Donner—and I'm happy for you, too.  "Where?"

"In the car," he grinned sheepishly.  

This is where the sidekick rushed over, getting trampled by the track team while he's at it.  Brilliant.

"Okay—I got the scoop."

Deep breather.  You'll be okay.  It's not fatal, remember that, whatever the news is.

"What'd she say?"  Thank God, Cameron asked that.  I don't want to be TOO eager.

WAIT!!  Patrick, this is KAT STRATFORD!!  You're being PAID to take her out, all right?  Jesus, get over yourself!

"'Hates him with the fire of a thousand suns.'  That's a direct quote."

I feel sick.  And I want to get flaming drunk.  Again. 

"Thanks, Marvin.  That's _very _comforting."

Cameron's trying to say something positive, but he needs more practice.  "Well…you know, she could just need a day to cool off."

I'm about to agree, but just then, a large volleyball makes a beeline for our heads, and it's only by throwing myself backwards that it doesn't kick me.  Looking out at the field, I see Kat's glare.  Of course, she launched it.

"Maybe two," I correct.  And very probably more.

Donner stopped me in the hall, trying to talk to me about taking Kat to the prom.  Oh, perfect timing, imbecile, really.

He handed me two hundred.  "Here.  This should take care of the flowers, the limo, the tux, everything.  Just make sure she gets to the prom"

I guess taking the money was sort of mechanical, but then something exploded.  I want to take Kat, yes, but I don't want to be paid for doing it; don't want to think that I'm only doing this because I have to.  No.  

"You know, I'm sick of playing your little game."  I shoved the money back at him.  Thank God, I've finally said it.

"Are you sick of, say…three hundred?"

Oh, damn him.  I can't say no to that.  Hell, what's the possibility Kat would find out?  Zero, am I right?  Besides, it wouldn't kill me to have three hundred dollars in exchange for something I'd do anyway.  

I hate myself.  If Kat ever decides to quit hating me, I'll start to wonder about her sanity.


End file.
